


Fix Or Conflict

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Louis, Broken Harry, Broken Louis, Chaptered, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Daddy Kink, Dark, Disturbing Themes, Emotional Manipulation, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kidnapping, Love Triangles, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Riding, Rimming, Romance, Self-Harm, Smut, Stockholm Syndrome, Submissive Louis, Top Harry, Trauma, homocide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-06 21:04:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3148502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> Find what you love and let it kill you. </i><br/> </p><p>“I seem to be running a bit late,” Harry says as he stares at his watch under his clear plastic coat. He smiles. “Do you have a boyfriend, love?” There is no response. “Oh, right,” Harry realizes. “Silly me.”<br/>He tears the duct tape off her mouth, a little less than gently. “Now, no screaming,” Harry drags the tip of the knife down her cheek, “or we both know where this knife will end up.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It is done.

It is done but just for that night or week or month. The feeling of warmth inside him doesn't always last. He's always going to need the thrill that makes his heart beat with excitement, though he’s still not sure that his heart is really there. He's a addicted to a drug more lethal than most.

Harry is like God… or he would be if God wasn’t just a fantasy.

◊

He’s in fresh clothing because even though he’s very careful during his sinful deed, he still feels dirty. Dirty, but not in a guilt way. He doesn’t feel that. He doesn’t feel anything, really. But he’s good at pretending that he does. The only emotion he knows quite well is disgust. But he could argue that he can feel more than that given the situation.

He hears the bells on the restaurant door jingle as he walks in. He’s always hated those stupid bells and how their noise makes the people in the room look his way. He ignores their gazes and looks for a familiar face in the restaurant. Stranger. Stranger. Stranger. Stranger. _Louis._

One corner of Harry’s mouth curls up slightly before he walks over to the table the boy is sitting at. “You’re late,” Louis says with a smile on his face as Harry scoots into the booth.

“I was a child with an alcoholic father. Give me a break,” Harry replies, and he likes that Louis giggles at his morbid humor.

Louis Tomlinson is Harry’s boyfriend for all the wrong reasons that he doesn’t know of. Even though Harry finds him cute, he has no interest in him at all. Harry doesn’t need to know love nor does he want to. He just keeps Louis around to humanize himself more in other people’s eyes. And it’s a plus that Louis allows Harry to fuck him whenever he wants.

They’re eating dinner; Louis is eating a salad that Harry can’t understand how he enjoys. Harry is eating a decently sized square of lasagna. There’s a jazz song that comes on in the restaurant and he nearly chokes on his pasta. His fork falls onto his plate with a loud clink. “How was your day?” Harry asks Louis to evade any questions from him. Louis doesn’t mention anything, to Harry’s relief.

“Good, although I did hurt myself a bit while trying to do a grand battement in class,” Louis answers.

“That’s okay. I’ll do most of the work tonight, then,” Harry says while reaching under the table to pat his thigh gently. He watches as red fills Louis’s cheeks. Harry shoots him a smile and quickly drops it as he sits back in his seat again.

He’s not really hungry anymore, so he plays with the thick tomato sauce as Louis finishes his own plate. Though he did panic, he feels his level of thrill rise because the song is bringing back very good memories to him.

Harry pays for the both of them. He stands up and waits for Louis to be by his side. They drive to Harry’s loft. It’s 8 minutes of holding hands over Louis’s lap in silence.

Harry takes pride in a lot of things, be it his possessions or himself. His massive loft is one of the many things he likes to show off. Maybe he should feel sad about the fact that the only way he had attained his money was through the death of his family, but he really can’t when he’s living such a good life. Harry recalls a time when he had been sitting at school once with a few classmates and said something along the lines of, “It’s annoying when your family dies and leaves you with more money than you know what to do with,” and the disgusted looks he received made him roar with laughter.

Harry was never close with his family, and with the pressure he felt from everyone else to _love_ them, he felt that weight was lifted off his shoulders when they died. It should also be made known that Harry did not kill his family. His mum, stepdad, and sister were in a car crash a year ago.

Everyone at his uni found out about it and kept giving him their unwanted condolences. The only good that came out of that day was Louis “comforting” him with his body.

Harry considers it slightly pathetic that Louis has wasted two years loving someone who didn’t love him back. But he can’t really say he doesn’t enjoy Louis’s company when he’s moaning and squeaking underneath him. “F-fuck, fuck, fuck,” Louis whines into a pillow. Harry drags a finger over his spine that appears whenever Louis arches his back. Harry grabs Louis’s hips and pulls his bum up higher; The pitch of Louis’s moans does the same.

Harry turns Louis onto his back and continues. He runs his fingers through Louis’s hair then tugs on it, getting access to his neck. He sucks a bruise into the skin right next to his Adam’s apple. He’s ready to come. He pulls away from Louis neck to whisper into his ear, “Do you want my come? Do you want daddy’s come, princess?”  
Louis whines and tightens around him in response, bringing Harry even closer to his climax. He pulls out and brings himself closer to Louis’s face. Harry keeps his eyes trained on Louis and the way he also has his eyes on him and his mouth open. A few tugs and he’s throwing his head back as he comes. Some lands around Louis’s mouth rather than in it, so Harry uses the head of his cock to guide it in. Harry kisses Louis roughly before making his way back down. He takes Louis’s leaking cock in his mouth and makes him reach his orgasm.

◊

Harry has to remind himself to do things for Louis because it’s how relationships work, it’s how he keeps Louis around, since Harry doesn’t have much to offer besides material things. He can buy out an entire store for Louis, but he can’t tell him how he likes the way his tan skin is soft to the touch. He can’t and won’t show emotion at all unless he feels it’s necessary to get what he needs.

His body clock wakes him at 5:30 in the morning. He goes out for a run, and he runs until it hurts. When he arrives home at 7:00, he showers and begins making breakfast for Louis and himself.

Harry considers himself a horrible, disgusting, greedy person, but he also thinks he’s a decent boyfriend. Or owner, more like. He feels that Louis is his toy and belongs to him.

He hears Louis’s footsteps before sensing him come into the kitchen. Louis’s arms wrap around Harry’s waist from behind. Harry doesn’t acknowledge him until he turns off the stove. He turns to face him before pressing their lips together. Harry’s arm touches the hot pan. Louis pulls away and notices. “Jesus, fuck!” he almost yells and takes Harry’s arm away from the stove to observe the painful red mark. Harry just stares at the burn. He isn’t numb to pain; it hurts a lot, but he’s practiced for years to be unresponsive to it. Another thing on his list that he believes makes him above everyone else.

Harry, with a gauze wrapped around his arm, sets the table for breakfast. It would’ve been very easy for him to end up eating alone since every other time Louis’s tried to care for him, Harry would tell him that he didn’t need it or want it, eventually yelling at him to go away when he persisted. Louis would always come back; that shows Harry just how low Louis thinks of himself. In the same and entirely different ways, they are both damaged. That’s what keeps them together, Harry thinks. This time Harry let’s himself be cared for.

Louis walks into the dining room and stands next to Harry. He kisses his arm. “Do you have a morning class today?” Harry asks. Louis nods. “Okay, I’ll drive you… after breakfast.”

Eggs, sausage, bacon, and crumpets are what Harry typically makes for breakfast. Now that he really thinks about it, he’s getting bored of it and thinks he should start making something else. He stabs at the food on his plate a little harder than usual.

Harry waits until Louis is finished eating to hurry upstairs to get properly dressed. Louis follows him since he’s in a large shirt, most likely one of Harry’s, and boxers. While Harry pulls on black jeans and a white shirt with a low neck, Louis goes to the drawer his boyfriend has of his stuff.

Louis has his tights on underneath his sweatpants and one of his looser fitting shirts that he can move comfortably in. “Ready to go?” Harry asks. Louis nods. They walk down the spiral staircase to the living room. Harry grabs the blazer he threw on the couch last night and pulls it on. Harry quickly checks the state of his curly brown hair in a mirror and grabs his bag before opening the front door.

He drives to Louis’s studio. “Try not to hurt yourself this time, babe,” Harry says when they pull up to the front of the building. “Do you need me to pick you up?”  
“If you’re busy, I’ll just walk to my flat,” Louis replies and fixes one of Harry’s stray curls back into place. Harry leans over the console assembly to kiss him very softly. Louis likes the gentle kisses Harry gives him, and Harry only knows this because he can feel him smile every time.

“Bye,” Louis says with a grin as he gets out of the car. Harry waves and shoots him a smile, but it falls as soon as Louis doesn’t have his attention on him.

◊

  
“Are you… okay?” Harry shakes himself out of his flashback. He turns to his left to find a blond boy staring at him with a face of something akin to worry. Or fear. Harry nods then begins paying attention to the lecture again.

Niall is the only person in the entire class to ever sit next to Harry consecutively. It makes Harry’s life a lot easier since everyone in the class just knows that they sit next to each other, so there is always an empty seat next to one of them waiting to be filled by the other. Harry is close to considering Niall an acquaintance.

Harry checks the time, waiting for the day to be over. Harry can’t say he enjoys going to uni. He spent most of his high school years doing extensive research about the majors he wanted to take, and he’s sure that he knows more about the subjects than anyone in any of his classes, including the instructor.

He catches himself slipping back into his memories and stops. He tries to focus on something… anything. He absolutely detests when his past starts to plague his mind. He digs his nails into the side of his thigh. It doesn’t help.

As soon as the lecture ends, Harry gets up from his seat and walks out of the room with steady steps and his head held high.

The sound of the front door slamming shut bounces off the beige walls of the house. Harry tosses his bag on the couch before going upstairs. He strips down to his boxers and decides to draw a bath, thinking he can handle it now. Harry lowers himself into the water and stops when it reaches his shoulders. He shuts his eyes.

_He’s six years old_ , taking a cold bath as punishment for yelling at his aunt who kept asking for a hug. He was going to be babysat by her and her boyfriend for that weekend while his mum and stepdad went away. Even at six, he couldn’t stand his family. He splashed in the tub and threw the stupid rubber duck out. The door opened.

Harry pulls himself out from under the water, his wet hair drooping all around his face. He catches his breath and curses at himself. He grips the edges of the bathtub, making his forearms ache. He stands and gets a towel ready to dry himself off with. The bath wasn’t a good idea.

After wrapping the towel around his hips, he looks for his mobile phone in the pockets of his discarded jeans. He pulls it out and composes a text. He tells Louis that he’s “not in a good mood” so he “should stay home.” In his sleeping area, he tosses his phone on the bed and starts getting dressed. He doesn’t throw on anything too elaborate. He pulls on a pair of grey joggers and another white shirt. He doesn’t want to put on boxers. He doesn’t want to put on a new gauze. He lays down on his bed and falls asleep. But not for very long.

He considers texting Louis again and inviting him over to clear his mind. But if that doesn’t work, then he really doesn’t want Louis over while his memories are becoming a burden again. Last time his boyfriend was over when he was being bothered by his past, he had a major fit and made Louis cry. Louis didn’t speak to him for a week.  
Harry still hasn’t told Louis what it is that has the ability to upset him randomly. He hasn’t told anyone. He plans to keep it that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the chapters in this story are probably going to be very short. I apologize. Thank you for reading. xx


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of murder at the end of this chapter. just fyi if you don't want any of that. xx

Harry is constantly reminded that he’s been with Louis for a whole two, almost three, years because people he’s never once spoken to before in his life ask him if he’s ever put any thought into marrying Louis, who doesn’t even attend uni. He simply scoffs and walks away from them because it’s ludicrous and he doesn’t have an answer. (Plus, last time he actually replied to a girl who asked him, he vulgarly said, “Have you put any thought into facial plastic surgery?”)

Maybe Harry does have the ability to sympathize with people since the major reason he doesn’t want to marry Louis is because he doesn’t want to hurt him by admitting that he’s never felt anything for him 5 years later. Harry hasn’t even said the three words that people throw around so often to every boyfriend and girlfriend that they get rid of by the next week. Luckily, Louis hasn’t either.

“Those’ll kill you, babe,” Louis says as he gets into Harry’s car, finding him smoking a cigarette.

“Like every other smoker in the world would say, ‘We’re all going to die eventually’,” Harry puffs out the smoke and starts up his Ford Capri. “And I’m just speeding up the process."

Louis leans over and kisses him while his mouth is smoke free. Harry is a bit surprised. “Seems you want to hurry it up even more by getting us into a car accident,” Harry adds, making Louis blush and smile bashfully.

“God, your mouth tastes like an ashtray,” Louis mumbles, and Harry gives him a look that is a mixture of incredulousness and a glare.

“You like it,” Harry replies.

◊

  
Louis drags his finger across Harry’s chest and giggles. “What?” Harry asks. Louis shakes his head. He rolls over and kisses Harry. When he pulls away, Harry groans, “I need a little rest before round two, Louis.”

Louis wraps an arm around Harry’s waist and rests his head on his chest. Harry brings his arm around to play with Louis’s hair. It embarrasses Harry to admit, but he sometimes thinks, because of moments like these with Louis, that he might be able to learn to love him. But Harry is in no rush since he still can’t see a real future for _himself._

He sighs, his thoughts bothering him all too much recently. He wishes he had a normal head like everyone else. He envies the people who seem to have the ability of shutting off their brain. But then again, those people are stupid.

“Do you want to take a shower or bath?” Harry mumbles.

“…Shower,” Louis answers with hesitation as if he were still processing the pros and cons of the two options. And Harry is relieved he chose to shower.

Harry’s bathroom is rather large, about the length and width of two cars. Possibly more. Everyone who’s ever stepped into it consider it a spectacle. Right when you enter, there is a shower in the left corner next to the door. The shower is adjacent to the bathtub that Louis and Harry can both lie in at once. On the opposite side of the room, there is a massive mirror above the two sinks. And the toilet is in a little cubicle in the farther right corner, between the sinks and bathtub.

After the shower, they dress in Harry’s room. “D’you want to do anything tonight, babe?” Harry asks as he lays down a pair of dark wash jeans on his bed.

“I am a bit peckish. We could eat out somewhere,” Louis replies. Harry kisses his shoulder and nods. They both dress; Harry in dark clothing and Louis in lighter clothing. It’s always been like that.

Harry parks next to the sidewalk near the restaurant they’ve decided to eat at. It’s one of the first places they’d eaten at when they first started. Harry is not going to be sentimental about it.

“If you get a salad, I’m going to walk out and leave you here,” Harry says, half joking. “And you will never see me again.” Louis giggles and nudges Harry’s shin with the tip of his shoe. Louis continues looking through the menu. They end up sharing a meal since Harry doesn’t have an appetite for anything. Harry pays for the meal, dropping a note on the table, before taking Louis’s hand and making their way for the door.

Harry hops off the sidewalk to get to his car door, but before he can get the key out of his jacket, he realizes that a situation is brewing. Unnoticed, he watches the three men start surrounding Louis. He’s disappointed seeing Louis take their crude words, wishing that poor little Louis would fight back. Louis can barely whisper the words, “Leave me alone,” to them.

Harry begins to walk over to them, but his calm steps become long strides when one of them decides to grab Louis’s arm. He’s seething with rage. He punches the stranger right in the jaw. Right when he tries to nurse his jaw, Harry swiftly digs the pointy tip of his boot into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. The two other men sprint off. Harry leans in close to the hunched over, breathless man and in his ear, says, “Don’t touch… my stuff.”

He puts a hand on the man’s shoulder and uses it to add more force to the kneeing he gives him again to his stomach. When he collapses, Harry kicks him one, two, three more times. And then one more time.

He’s so caught up in the pleasure of his work that he forgets Louis is still there. He stares at the coughed up blood on the floor before turning around to face his boyfriend, who still has a look of fright. Harry thinks he’s doomed, but Louis runs into his arms. Harry freezes because that wasn’t a usual response. He expected him to scream or run away because that was always the first instinct. But he’s holding Harry like he was an anchor. Harry decides it’d be best to remove himself from the hug now, so he guides Louis to his car door, unlocks it, and helps him inside. They don’t speak; Louis too traumatized and Harry not wanting to.

Not one word. They brush their teeth, Harry undresses and Louis doesn’t undress, and they get into Harry’s bed. Louis is on his side, facing away from Harry, and it doesn’t take a fucking genius to know that he’s crying. Harry has already figured out that Louis is a quiet cryer. Harry takes the spot as the big spoon and takes Louis’s hand in his own. “No one’s going to hurt you, Louis,” Harry whispers. “I won’t let them.”

Louis turns around and buries his face in Harry’s chest. Harry feels his tears drip on his skin. Harry looks at his face and gently kisses his stinging, wet cheeks. His poor, broken boyfriend and his inability to let the past go at all.

Harry knows that in the morning, Louis will still be upset and will step into the shower for thirty minutes, scrubbing his entire body until he bleeds. He can’t have his toy in anything but perfect shape. “Want to go take a bath?” Harry asks, stroking his face. Louis nods slowly. “I’ll go draw it for you.”  
Harry is sat by the bath as it runs, checking his fist. There’s only slight bruising. His observation is cut short when Louis cracks the door open just a bit. He’s disrobed and evidently apprehensive about it.

Harry, for a moment, thinks about how easy it would be to destroy Louis. He waits for the thought to slip his mind before saying, “Bath is ready,” while gently splashing it. Louis takes small steps towards him and the bath. He sees pink bubbles. “I hope the pink doesn’t threaten your manliness.”

“N-no, I like it,” Louis croaks out and gives him a meager smile that Harry knows a blind man wouldn’t believe. “I… I want you in the tub with me.”

Harry gently touches his arm, sliding his fingers down to his hand and holding it. Harry kisses the subtle scarring around his wrist. He nods. Harry pulls down his black briefs and kicks them aside. He carefully walks up the small bathtub steps and puts one foot then the other in the pink bubbly water.  
Once he’s settled in, Louis sits down on his lap. And Harry is impressed since Louis is sitting just a few inches from his dick. When Louis began feeling like that, Harry did his best not to get naked in the same room as Louis or stare when Louis was naked.

Harry grabs a sponge, soaks it in the water, and squeezes it on Louis’s shoulder. Louis leans back until he can rest his head on Harry’s collarbone. He’s still trying to steady his breathing. Harry switches between looking at his long eyelashes and his lips that are just slightly apart while he cautiously drags the sponge down Louis’s chest.

Louis brings his head back until he can suck on Harry’s neck. And Harry finds himself being surprised by Louis yet again. Harry thinks maybe this won’t leave another scar on him.

Harry thinks it’s sick. He’s trying to make Louis forget his history while Harry keeps thinking of his. Harry was six and sitting in a bathtub when his life changed. He wishes that his six year old self had drowned. Everything wouldn’t be shit. Well, Harry wouldn’t have to be alive to see it anyway. Then his mind wanders onto the topic of why he doesn’t just kill himself now.  
He doesn’t have an answer.

◊

Harry rests his elbows on the deck railing after sticking a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it. It’s freezing cold out, but Harry didn’t bother to put on anything more than a pair of boxers and a flannel. Louis is probably still sleeping in his bed or just waking up to the lack of Harry’s presence. Harry does not care.

He stares at his pool. He estimates it’d take ten minutes for him to drown and fifteen or twenty minutes to die of hypothermia. He thinks a gun would work better.  
When he’s done smoking, he walks back into the kitchen. He leans on the center counter and eyes the knives in the wooden knife holder. He looks away.

His answer only becomes more confused.

◊

“I seem to be running a bit late,” Harry says as he stares at his watch under his clear plastic coat. He smiles. “Do you have a boyfriend, love?” There is no response. “Oh, right,” Harry realizes. “Silly me.”

He tears the duct tape off her mouth, a little less than gently. “Now, no screaming,” Harry drags the tip of the knife down her cheek, “or we both know where this knife will end up."

“N-no,” she says. Harry walks over to his small stereo. He begins playing _Vide Cor Meum._

“I do. He’s pathetic, but he’s pretty and the sex is great,” Harry says as he walks back over. “I play this song for my loveliest clients. And you are lovely.”

He stares at the glint in his knife thoughtfully. She lets out a loud shriek that makes Harry’s blood begin to boil immediately. “I said ‘No screaming’!” He yells, the words sounding painfully familiar, and jams the knife as hard as he can into her throat. He runs a hand through his hair, pulling it back into place. “Somebody should’ve taught you to keep your promises.”

He strokes her blond hair before making his way to the gallon of gasoline. He wishes he could make everything else go away by burning it.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry only remembers the day Louis let him in because that’s when he found out they were both fucked up. Louis, crying his eyes out in Harry’s shirt while they lied in bed, and Harry listening with an expressionless face, saying nothing because the only thing he could think of saying was, “I was too.”

Louis’s mum enrolled him to a private all-boys school when he was fourteen. She had known about the school through a friend who happened to be a teacher there, allowing Louis to easily get in. And he was happy for a long time. Louis said, “I knew I was gay at the time. My mum didn’t know because I was always afraid of how she’d react. And… I was always afraid… of how she’d react to one of my teachers knowing before she did.”

Harry then listens to Louis go into the details. His teacher would use his sexuality as a way to blackmail him. First it started with Louis just giving him pleasure with his hands or mouth. But it began to escalate, and he started fucking him. At first, Louis would bite his lips until they bled and cry silently. But then he began to fight back. When that happened, his teacher started to handcuff him and tape his mouth.

One day, he sharpened the edges of the handcuffs as punishment, and they immediately cut Louis’s wrists when he tugged against them. Eventually, Louis wasn’t just trying to release himself. He was trying to kill himself because he could escape, but for how long? He remembered that rape victims are always doubted, especially male ones. He pulled harder and more.

His teacher unbound him, dressed him, and left him to die in his room when he finished. Louis’s roommate found him a few minutes later, half-naked and bleeding out.

Louis’s school was then traded in for a psych ward. He was in for being suicidal. He didn’t talk about it. He knew they wouldn’t believe him, and they’d keep him in longer. He spent a year and a half playing a suicidal person who was progressing and getting better. He wasn’t either of those things.

Harry held his trembling mess of a boyfriend all night. Harry didn’t speak. He understood, quietly.

◊

Harry’s standing by his grocery cart as Louis picks out food. He’s clicking around on his phone since he doesn’t have friends to actually chat with and his family is dead. And his extended family doesn’t like him.

“What’s taking so long?” Harry asks, a little annoyed.

“Sorry, babes. I can’t find what I’m looking for,” Louis replies.

“Well, what is it?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve found it.” Harry watches him put a little container of star-shaped sprinkles in their cart. Harry raises an eyebrow but drops it. “I’m going to make something for you,” Louis says, smiling.

“Okay… Well, try not to poison me. Throwing up is disgusting,” Harry puts his phone back into his pocket and starts pushing to cart to the front of the store.

Harry takes more bags in one hand than Louis does in both. Louis tells him it’s just because he has bigger hands. “…And fingers that you love,” Harry whispers into his ear before getting in front of him to unlock the door. Louis is blushing behind him. The two boys make their way to the kitchen and place the bags down on the island countertop. Harry leaves Louis in the kitchen and goes into his living room to work on a paper at his desk.

In an hour, Louis walks into the living room and sets something down on Harry’s desk. Harry turns and comes face to face with a cake that says, “Happy birthday, Harry!” in frosting, along with hearts and the star sprinkles that Louis bought earlier.

Harry’s confused. He looks at the date in the corner of his computer screen and sees that it does read _FEB 1_. He turns back to Louis and the cake. “What kind is it?” Harry asks.

“Banana,” Louis answers. Harry curls up the ends of his lips, forming a smile he hopes looks genuine. His other two birthdays, Harry specifically told him not to do anything since he didn’t want anything. This year, he forgot. And Louis saw a chance and took it. Harry could come up with an excuse to not eat the cake at all, but that would end with Louis’s feelings being hurt and Harry having to apologize later. He figures eating a slice would be easiest.

“Well, let’s go cut it then,” Harry says. They both walk back into the kitchen. After setting it on the island, Harry grabs a knife and cuts out two thin slices of it. The cake is okay. Harry doesn’t really have enthusiastic opinions about it because he’s never been a fan of cake. On his eighth birthday, he threw the cake on the floor and managed to blame it on the cat. By twelve, he killed the cat.

After they finish the cake, Harry wraps his arms around Louis and kisses his forehead. “Thank you,” Harry whispers.

“I’ll give you your present _tonight_ ,” Louis says and giggles.

“Does it have to wait until tonight? I might want it now,” he replies.

“Patience is a virtue.”

“Fuck that.” Louis giggles once more and kisses his lips. Louis pulls away and takes his hand before taking him back into the living room.

“Okay, since you’ve been a good boy and ate some of the cake, I’ll give you a little preview of your present,” Louis walks him over to the couch and sits him down. Louis climbs into his lap, facing him, and gently grinds his crotch into Harry’s. And fuck, Harry is already growing hard. Harry is glad that even though he isn’t in tune with emotions, he’s in tune with his sexuality.

Louis attaches his lips to Harry’s neck and gently sucks a bruise into it. Harry gropes Louis’s bum and bucks his hips for more friction. And then all the touch is gone. Harry opens his eyes to find Louis kneeling on the floor in front of him, looking up at him under his eyelashes.

Harry struggles with undoing the button of his jeans. He sighs in relief when the button finally budges and pulls his trouser down to his knees. Louis pulls down his briefs. Harry throws his head back feeling Louis’s lips around his cock.

◊

Harry feels that his last two birthdays were wasted now that he knows what could’ve happened if he hadn’t been so stubborn about wanting nothing. He could’ve had two more nights of his boyfriend desperately begging him to use his body for his own selfish needs and pleasure. He almost feels stupid for asking Louis to avoid doing anything for him in the past.

            Even though Louis willingly gives his body up, Harry doesn’t take that as a pass to abuse him. He does everything at his usual pace and force which is always more than good enough for Louis, who is still panting more than five minutes after they finish. “Happy birthday,” Louis says, breathlessly. Harry kisses his forehead and pulls him close.

            Harry has realized countless times that Louis trusts him, but it finally sets in. Louis could confide in Harry and vice versa. Harry’s lived his whole life trusting no one and letting his problems battle in his head for dominance of his attention and ignoring the fact he had someone that could be his confidant. It was obviously to Harry that Louis loved him.

            “Lou?” Harry says.

            “Yes?” Louis looks up at him. Harry kisses his lips.

            “I have something to tell you.” And there’s this expectant look in Louis’s eyes that makes Harry want to puke because he’s about to tell him something that no one on Earth would want to hear. Harry actually feels emotions getting caught in his throat. He has never talked about it. Louis sees this, and his hopeful expression is exchanged for a worried one.

            “What is it, babe?”

            Harry opens his mouth ready to speak about the time he lost his compassion, when he lost all the feelings a child shouldn’t ever lose. He feels like the weak little boy he was before age six. The tears in his throat sting and make it difficult for him to breathe. He takes Louis’s hand and anchors himself to him. “W-we have something in common, you know?” Harry starts. He swallows the tears and continues. “And I’ve never told anyone about it… Well, I have. But no one believes an angry, cynical six-year-old.”

            Harry watches as tears fill Louis’s eyes because he already knows how the story ends. Louis buries his face in Harry’s shoulder and waits for him to continue. “My aunt had a boyfriend, and they’d… they’d babysit me on the weekends. I didn’t like them. I never really liked anyone in my family. I was always afraid of them and hid that with anger. One day, I refused to hug her and I y-yelled, so as punishment, I had to take a cold bath,” Harry stops to take another breath.

            “That’s why you don’t like taking baths…,” Louis whispers, mostly to himself. Louis tries to resist the urge to slap himself because he always coaxed Harry into bathing with him. If only he had known why his boyfriend hated baths like cats did.

            “Her boyfriend, Roy, came into the bathroom, and he- and he- and he touched me,” And the wall that Harry has built up comes down chaotically for the first time in fourteen years. “And f-for a few months, it was only th-that. But then, my mum left me at my aunt’s house for a few days and that’s- that’s when he finally did it. He r-ruined me.” _Ruined_. That seems like the most appropriate way for Harry to describe the horror of it.

His six year old self grew up too fast after that.

He became frustrated with living and weighed down by his own disgust of being raped. He was still too young to know what his aunt’s boyfriend did to him, but he understood his feelings of shame all too well. During showers, he could hardly look at his body because it didn’t look or feel clean anymore no matter how much soap he used or how many times he scrubbed at it. He lost his purity. He lost value. He lost himself.

            Harry has been naked in front of Louis too many times to count, but now he feels too naked, almost skinned, showing Louis the lungs that have to endure cigarettes and a vacant spot where his heart should be.

            Almost like he reads his mind, Louis kisses his chest, reminding Harry that he does have a beating heart. “D-do you want to take a shower?” Louis asks through tear-filled eyes and a runny nose. Harry nods sadly.

            Louis kisses him with all the love and support he can muster in three seconds before jumping out of bed and hurrying to start the shower. Harry lies in bed, feeling light enough to float away. He wishes that he does. A minute later, Louis crawls on top of him and kisses him before quietly telling him, “The shower’s warmed up.”

Harry wishes that he can say Louis still looks at him the same, but he doesn’t. He looks at him with more love in his eyes than before. It scares Harry in a way that he doesn’t quite understand. He kisses Louis hard before trailing behind him to the bathroom.

            And in the shower, Louis helps Harry scrub himself. 

◊

Harry feels like a ghost for the next few days. He’s finally told someone who believes him, and it’s like weight of it lifted from his shoulders. But Harry thinks it’s been the only thing that has kept him on the ground.

The large wall that he’s spent 14 years building turned out to not be as strong as he thought it was because it is dust. And now he’s desperately trying to rebuild it and missing school because of it. He can’t leave his home without his horrible narcissism or else he’d be approachable.

He can handle a few days out of school, but he’s getting tired of the disappointed look Louis gives him when he walks into Harry’s loft and finds him lounging in the living room still wearing what he woke up with, which is nothing. “You’ve missed a whole week of school, babe,” Louis sighs. He continues ranting about how it isn’t okay for him to avoid people and school and how he won’t graduate if he continues staying home.

While Louis is still monologuing, Harry casually says, “You should move in with me.”

“And then you’ll be poor and end up on the streets and— what?” Louis asks. Harry turns to face him.

“You should move in, like officially. You’re still paying for a flat that you hardly visit once a week,” Harry clarifies. He thinks of this as his way of saying ‘thank you’ to Louis for being his first confidant to believe him.

“Okay. Well… don’t try to ask for my hand in marriage next week,” Louis jokes. And Harry can’t dismiss the obvious truth that Louis is waiting for just that. Harry forces the ends of his lips up.

“Don’t tempt me, Lou,” he replies, a little strained.

◊

Harry is bored and feels an increase of numbness, physically and emotionally. But it’s not anything necessarily new. He’s sat at the top of the spiral staircase, carving several lines into the curve of his thumb with his pocket knife. Louis will see them if he doesn’t bandage it and possibly cry, and Harry will just watch, wondering why anyone would ever care what he did to his own body. It’s just a vessel, and it will heal. It will heal.

He squeezes his fist and watches more blood ooze out. He stands up and trudges down the steps, hearing the metal ringing through the empty house. He walks through the dining room to get to the kitchen. He grabs a paper towel and soaks up the red dripping down his hand. He tosses the towel away then places a large plaster on the cleaned wound.

He pulls his pocket knife from his jeans and washes the blade in the sink. He hears the front door open and quickly puts the knife back into his pocket. He dries his hands on his trousers and walks into the living room. “Checked my contract and left them a notice,” Louis says as he walks towards Harry. “I should be getting my stuff out in two weeks.”

“Great,” Harry replies. Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s shoulders and presses their lips together. “I’ll rent you a moving van and stuff.”

“Thank you. How are you feeling, babe? Feeling any better?”

“A little,” Harry answers. Louis nods and strokes his face before kissing him again. He runs his hands down Harry’s arms to his fingertips. He feels the bandage and looks down.

“What happened to you?”

“Just accidentally cut myself while chopping up an apple,” Harry lies smoothly. He hopes Louis doesn’t ask him to peel it back to observe it. The depth, length, and straightness of cuts would be telltales. Louis accepts his explanation. Harry then removes himself from Louis’s arms and excuses himself to the kitchen to start dinner. He makes an asparagus and goat cheese frittata. He eats half of what he usually would. Louis frowns at him, wishing he would actually cheer up. But he understands the difficulty.

“Here, I’ll wash the dishes,” Louis kisses Harry’s cheek as he picks up his plate and skips to the kitchen. If Harry’s upset, Louis can’t be. He needs to be like a light and shine through Harry’s darkness. But it doesn’t work. Harry’s darkness is impenetrable. The only thing that makes him feel better also reminds him why he has such a black cloud around him in the first place. He’s pathetic.

He leaves the dining room and makes his way up stairs, peeling off what little clothing he had left before stepping into the bathroom and turning the shower on. He stares at himself in the vanity. He is the devil in disguise. There is hell underneath his pale skin. He finally notices the condensation on the mirror and gets into the shower, letting the scalding water touch his skin like a million heated needles. He grabs the shower head as the water sprays over the small of his back, leaving it pink and raw. But by the end of it, all of his creamy white flesh is replaced by angry skin.

He needs to replace the plaster on his thumb, so he quickly pats himself dry and puts the towel around his neck to catch the droplets falling from his hair and makes his way downstairs. He hopes Louis doesn’t note his irritated skin.

He finds Louis still washing the dishes, which makes it easier to get what he needs and leave. God, he’s so fucking stupid. It’s his house. He doesn’t need to tiptoe around like a idiotic teenager trying to sneak out of the house. He owns it, and while Louis still has his own flat, he can tell him to leave if he wishes. He opens up the drawer that holds all their first aid items and goes for another bandage. Louis doesn’t turn his body around to look at him but just his head, showing only his profile. “What’cha doing, babe?” he asks over the gentle clinking of two plates.

“Replacing my plaster. Came off a bit in the shower,” Harry answered, truthfully. It was possibly the only honest thing Harry’s said to him all day.

Louis finishes washing the final plate and turns around. He watches Harry rub his finger over the end of the bandage, making sure it sticks. His eyes meet Louis’s. No one speaks for a long moment. He almost panics that Louis can see it now, he can see the hole torn into him. But he walks over and wraps his arms around Harry’s dewy, naked body, sighing deeply. “What can I give you? Please, I just want to make you happy,” Louis whispers softly.

 _You can’t. No one can._ The closest Harry ever gets to happiness is when there’s a mist or splatter of blood on his face and gloved hands. He can’t hurt Louis. He can’t. He brings a trembling hand up to Louis’s face and slowly strokes his cheek. Harry brings his hand back and mentally screams at himself. He isn’t soft touches and eyes. He’s strong hands around necks and glares.

He keeps it together and takes Louis’s hand before leading him upstairs without a word. He helps Louis get out of his kit and gets him on the bed on all fours. Harry’s hardly aroused yet, but he needs something to focus on. He’s good at sex, he’s good at pleasing Louis. He’s had more than two years learning what makes Louis come undone.

He pulls off his towel, lies down on his stomach behind Louis, and props himself up on his elbows. He sighs as he kneads his fingers into the tan flesh of Louis’s ass and slowly spreads it apart to find his hole. “So perfect,” he mumbles to himself like it’s a secret. He licks a thin stripe across his hole with the tip of his tongue. Louis immediately shudders at Harry’s tongue feeling like a ghost. “Wait, wait, turn around.”

Louis rolls onto his back and brings his knees up to his chest like Harry’s taught him. He clamps his teeth down on his lip as Harry goes back to licking at his hole, each lick better than the last. Harry wraps one of his hands around Louis’s hot, swelling cock and pumps it. He stops and brings all his attention back to rimming Louis. He points his tongue and prods at his hole. Louis exhales sharply and digs his nails into his stomach.

Harry’s mouth and cheeks are covered in his own saliva and Louis has his fists around the bed sheets. Louis restrains himself from touching his dick that’s leaking on him stomach. He wants to try and come like this, with Harry only licking his hole. Harry knows he can’t though; Louis’s body needs more than just a tongue. “Touch yourself, princess,” Harry says while still having his mouth on Louis. They lock eyes just as Louis brings his hand around his cock. He comes with a sob, being so overwhelmed with pleasure. Harry feels him fluttering on his tongue. He licks up the white stripes on Louis’s stomach and hand.

“You still need to come,” Louis says. And Harry, who was once distracted, now realizes he’s hard as stone. He begins tugging at himself from where he’s knelt. But Louis shakes his head and tells him three amazing words that Harry loves to hear, “On my face.”

Harry nods and awkwardly shuffles forward until he’s straddling Louis’s chest. He continues running a fist around his cock and never breaks his stare from Louis. He licks his dry lips and lets out a low groan as shoots ribbons of come on Louis’s face, trying to get a majority of it on his lips. Louis’s tongue picks up whatever it can and holds it out. Harry eyes Louis’s tongue, a pool of saliva and come on it, before kissing him, practically slurping his tongue.

Harry lets himself fall into the spot next to Louis as he’s cleaning off the rest of his face. The smaller man wraps his arms around Harry immediately and kisses his chest softly. “I really know how to pick a boyfriend,” Harry breathes, still recovering from his orgasm. Louis smiles and takes Harry’s face in his hands, blue meeting green.

“I’m here for all your needs, Harry. Every single one,” Louis coos. He puts a leg in between Harry’s legs and pulls himself closer. Harry’s skin feels incredibly warm and his throat feels a bit dry even though he had just swallowed come twice less than ten minutes ago. He clears his throat, ruining the hushed mood just a bit.

“So… if I wanted to have sex every two hours for the rest of our lives, you’d be up for it?” Harry asks, chuckling lightly. Louis grins and nods.

“I would. You make me feel so good, Harry. And I enjoy making you feel good too,” Louis answers as his hands travels up and down Harry’s back. Louis has noticed the change in Harry’s mood, so he figures that a round two would help him even more. He needs to get Harry hard again. He sucks on Harry’s neck, right above his pulse point. He gently grinds his hips into Harry’s thigh.

Harry swallows thickly, becoming aroused out of his mind as he watches and feels Louis’s dick becoming erect again. He starts swelling up too. He feels like a teenager again with a shorter refractory period. Harry doesn’t think highly of anyone apart from himself. But with Louis here, getting both of them hard again, he can’t stop himself from saying, “You’re amazing.”

Louis’s breath catches in his throat hearing that. “I want… I want you to fuck me,” Louis says. “I _need_ you to fuck me. Please, daddy.”

Harry was defenseless against Louis’s dirty talk because he knew Louis. Louis, who went to a ballet class during the weekdays and taught a children’s ballet class every other weekend, who used to spend his summers teaching swim lessons, who volunteered at daycares and soup kitchens. Louis was a genuinely good person. Harry bets that all of the people Louis’s met would never have guessed how shamelessly sinful he could actually be. And he was the lucky one because he had the privilege of making Louis that way.

Harry pushes Louis onto his back and positions himself in between his knees. “Are you loose enough, princess? Do you need prep?” Harry asks.

“I can handle it. I just need your cock, daddy,” Louis whines. “Need it deep inside me.”

Louis flails his arm until he finds the nightstand and opens the first drawer to retrieve the lube. Harry takes it from him and quickly pumps lube onto his hand before smoothing it over his erection. He wipes the remaining lube on Louis’s hole. Achingly slow, he slides into Louis. “ _Oh,_ ” Harry groans. He doesn’t remember ever being disappointed by Louis. He was always so tight.

Louis wraps his legs around Harry’s hips, wanting every inch, every centimeter of him. Harry begins to move out and then slams his hips back in, getting a bullseye on Louis’s prostate because he knows its location so well. Louis yelps and digs his nails deep into Harry’s back. It drives Harry wild.  
He wraps his arms around Louis’s back and sits up, pulling him into his lap. Louis caresses his face and kisses him, moaning into his mouth as he bucks his own hips. He pulls away and whimpers into Harry’s neck as he begins to feel his climax bubbling in his lower stomach. “I’m going to come,” Louis mewls and holds onto Harry tighter.

“Me too,” Harry moans.

“Come inside me, daddy.” That’s all it takes. Feeling Harry fill him up brings Louis to his orgasm, gasping and spilling all over Harry’s chest as well as his own. They fall over, Louis on top and Harry’s head hanging off the edge of the bed. Louis takes this as the perfect moment to suck and mark Harry’s neck.  
Harry gently pulls out his softening cock and feels Louis start dripping on him. He smiles while Louis giggles. “Louis… that was so hot,” Harry says. Louis drags him back onto the bed until his head doesn’t hang off it and kisses his lips.

“I love you,” Louis blurts out. And it takes every thing in Harry’s body to stop him from shouting and running away. He knows that Louis loves him, and that’s not what bothers him. It’s that Louis expects it to be mutual and expects Harry to return the phrase. But Harry is frozen and at a loss for words. What is he supposed to say without making Louis cry and leave him for good? Thank you? He thinks and thinks and thinks in the ten seconds before Louis adds, “You don’t have to say it back, Harry. It’s okay.” Louis strokes his face and kisses him again, softer, sweeter.

“It’s okay?” Harry asks, not being able to believe it.

“Yeah. I mean, it hurts a little but… I don’t love you because you love me. Does that make sense? I love you for you, and I’m going to love you regardless of your feelings for me or lack thereof,” he explains. “I just needed to say that because I’ve known for almost three years now.”

They settle into a silence, and Harry can’t tell if it’s also uncomfortable for Louis. “Well… I could. I probably could,” Harry says, dryly. And Louis understands exactly what he’s saying. Louis kisses Harry as he crawls over him, picking his shirt off the floor and walking to the restroom. He comes back with his shirt wet. He climbs back onto the bed, sitting on Harry’s legs as he cleans off his chest. Harry takes the wet shirt from him and wipes the drying come off Louis.

“You know, before round two, you subtly said that you think we’re going to be together for the rest of our lives,” Louis says with a large smile on his face. And Harry would be lying if he said he didn’t want to. Louis is the only person he is “close” to and isn’t constantly bothered by. He needs his toy to keep him entertained.

He doesn’t love Louis. He doesn’t love anyone or anything but himself and his hobby.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry takes his seat next to Niall Horan. He keeps his eyes on his desk because he knows everyone is still looking at him. When he got onto the campus, there were eyes on him and whispers about him. No one thought he’d come back. “Hey, where were you last week?” Niall asks quietly. “Is everything all right?”

“Niall, we are not friends,” Harry tells him, more bitterly than he intended. “So don’t ask me things about my life. It shouldn’t matter to you.”

Niall simply nods and brings his attention back to the teacher. Harry turns his head to give him an apology but decides against it at the last second. He knows himself, and apologies to anyone but Louis isn’t something he does.

Before the day ends, the instructor briefly mentions an upcoming project. But Harry is too busy packing up his books and leaving to listen.

◊

“Why does Evie hate you so much?” Harry asks before he sips from his bottle of water.

“I never told you? She was chatting me up once and asked me out. Broke her heart when I told her I was gay,” Louis answers with a chuckle. “Plus, she’s extremely religious. I am still waiting for her to come to class with a leotard that says ‘God hates fags’ on it.”

“God can’t hate fags, can’t hate anything. He doesn’t exist,” Harry mumbles. “If she ever comes at you with a torch and pitchfork, I’ll be there in a second and slaughter her.” Louis doesn’t even know how much truth is in that sentence. He gives Harry a kiss and rests his head on his lap.

“I have a show next week. Want to come?” Louis asks.

“Well, I have nothing better to do. So… I might as well.”

“Good because I love flaunting my fit boyfriend.”

Harry mindlessly cards his fingers through Louis’s hair as he watches children run around the playground. And though Harry finds them repulsive, he wants to protect their innocence. Their purity. “C-can we go home now?” Harry looks down, meeting Louis’s eyes. “I still have to catch up on work.” Louis nods and gets off the ground then helps Harry up.

“Sometimes… I wish I was still in uni,” Louis murmurs as they walk to Harry’s car. The reason Louis left university is also how Louis and Harry met. Sometimes Louis wishes they’d met on better circumstances, but they met and that’s all that matters to him.

Back when Louis and Harry were living in the university dorms, they’d play sports with other guys. Harry would wait for the showers to empty before using one. One time when he figured the bathroom would be vacant, he was wrong.

He stayed hidden behind a wall and watched as three boys shoved another boy back and forth. Originally, he was going to wait for them to stop or take the short boy elsewhere. But that clearly wasn’t going to happen soon.

Harry wasn’t and still isn’t a good person. But because of his own experience, everything inside him was telling him to step in, especially when one of the boys pulled the short boy’s towel off his waist and they all cornered him. Harry was seeing red.

He turned the corner and approached the group. He shoved one roughly, and they all fell over like dominos, knocking their heads on the tile floor. Harry crouched near them and gave them a smile. “Take your friends and leave… Speak of this or do that shit again and I will come after all of you,” Harry growled before standing up, gently kicking their legs, and watching them all start to run.

Harry quietly picked up the towel on the floor and handed it to the boy without eyeing him until he had it on. He finally paid attention to what the victim looked like. His features were androgynous but just on the right side of male. His eyes were blue but nothing special. And his wet, feathered hair stuck to his forehead. He was probably more attractive than 75% of their school. “Thanks,” the boy squeaked out. “I’m… I’m Louis.”

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry tried, deciding if he liked the name or not. “I’m Harry.” Harry walked passed him to the shower area and began undressing. Louis scanned the ink on his chest and down his arm. He looked at the way his chocolate curls framed his face so nicely. He stopped watching Harry’s reflection in the mirror when he began pulling off his shorts. As he left the bathroom, he kept thinking that the boy with curls and forest green eyes was his guardian angel.

He couldn’t be more wrong.

◊

“Stop distracting me, I could cut my fingers off,” Harry hisses after Louis bumps his hip into Harry’s. Harry sets the sliced tomatoes aside and turns around to face his boyfriend. “I need them. Later, I’ll remind you exactly what I need them for.” He towers over Louis and tilts his head down until their lips meet. He stops and smirks. Harry enjoys making Louis horny almost as much as he enjoys making him come. Both things make him feel powerful, in control.

He goes back to the cutting board. Louis hops onto the island right next to Harry’s station and watches him slice aubergines then zucchinis. “What are you making?” Louis finally asks as he kicks his feet from where the hang over the edge.

“An aubergine, zucchini, and tomato tian,” Harry answers.

“Can I help with anything?”

“Yes, stay there and don’t touch anything. You have a tendency to destroy food.” Louis opens his mouth, ready to argue, but he really can’t. He nods and continues spectating.

“You’re really skilled with a knife,” Louis mumbles. Harry could almost laugh at that, but he doesn’t. After preparing the rest of the tian, he places it in the oven and shuts it. He turns around as Louis hops off the island and strides towards him. He takes Harry’s hands and dances him out of the kitchen and into the living room. Louis pushes him down on the couch and gets into his lap before starting to kiss him. With Louis sitting on his knees, he’s above Harry and it’s like they’ve switched places. Harry cranes his neck upward to kiss him. Usually in positions like this, they’re rough and preparing for sex, but it’s gentle. So gentle it makes Harry feel strange. And he asks for something he’d never ask for otherwise.

“Can you say it?” Harry whispers against Louis’s mouth. The blue-eyed boy is puzzled for a moment before he understands what he’s saying. He nods.

“I love you,” Louis says before closing the tiny gap between their lips. And Harry wants to ask the question of _Would you still love me if you_ really _knew me_? He just doesn’t see how Louis could. Harry’s had dreams about Louis finding out, and they ended with tears, mostly Louis’s, and Harry being strapped down to a gurney and receiving a lethal injection. Always waking up as soon as the needle breaks through his skin. But he figures death row isn’t waiting for him as long as he stays in England.

He feels all around Louis’s back very slowly as if he was learning it for the first time. Louis pulls his lips away from Harry’s and watches his eyes as he touches him, breathing into his mouth. They’re both seduced by this charming tenderness.

Harry brings his hands up to Louis’s face and thumbs at his skin. Skin that he’s never thought about bruising or cutting or burning. He would hate to see it lose its lively color.

Harry is almost jealous of his skin. Louis is tan and warm. Harry is pale like porcelain. He’s so ill and lifeless looking, and his thin body only accentuates his cancerous look.

The side of his mind that isn’t completely clouded by his confidence tells him that he doesn’t deserve Louis. And the other side doesn’t care. It wants to indulge Louis in whatever way it can for as long as he lets him.

◊

He taps the side of his knife against his own cheek as he stares at the man tied in the chair. Harry unfolds his own chair and straddles it. He squints his eyes at the man. “What’s your name?” Harry asks but quickly shakes his head. “Never mind. You’re disgusting. I don’t need it. Let’s have a chat. But if you scream, I’ll shut you up with this,” Harry glances at his knife before reaching over to tear the tape off his mouth, “Huh. You look a lot like my father. He was an alcoholic and was already dead before his heart actually stopped. He was pitiful and gross looking. He looked better in his casket than he did his whole life. Anyway, do you know why you’re here? Why I chose you?”

He doesn’t speak, just shakes his head. _Coward_ , Harry thinks. “…I hate bars. I _really_ hate going to bars because there’s always a slight scent of vomit and there’s people like you there… So, I take it you like pretty brunettes that would never ever give you a second look so much that you follow them home when they’re drunk?” He doesn’t answer. Harry places the tape back on his mouth. “I guess I should’ve just kept it on. You’re not as much of a talker as you are a rapist and sack of worthless shit. You know, my boyfriend was raped when he was fourteen. I was raped when I was six, so I’m better at coping than he is. He… he still cries about it sometimes. No one should ever have to go through that, especially a kid. And this isn’t personal, really. You’re type clearly isn’t six-year-olds. But you were still trying to get lucky with someone who couldn’t consent. So, I’m going to kill you, and no one will miss you.”

Harry stands from his chair and kicks it aside. He sets himself on the strangers lap, facing him and grinning. He wraps his arms around the man’s neck, his wrist curling enough to bring the blade back into his view. “How does it feel to be on the receiving side of unwanted touching?” Harry whispers. He rolls his hips and watches his eyes widen with panic. “It’s no fun, is it?” Harry unwraps his arms and brings his knife under the stranger’s chin and cuts his shirt right down the middle. Then the fun truly begins. Harry carves an _R_ into his chest and watches the tears leak out of his eyes as he screams, muffled by the tape sealing his mouth. “Aw, hey, don’t cry,” Harry kisses his forehead. “You asked for it, baby.”

Harry continues carving an _A-P-I-S-T_ into his skin. The letters drip down to his pants. “The thing is… I could rape you and have you learn what it’s like. But I think rapists are disgusting and I wouldn’t want you to live with that anyway. So you’re just… not going to live, mate. I like to think, by doing this, I’m doing the world a favor. A cleanse of the impure. Pretty soon, I will be next on my own list. Then, you and I will be together in Hell. And it’s me you’ll be afraid of. Because I am the devil.”

Without warning, the blade ends up in between the man’s ribcage. Harry doesn’t lose eye contact with him for a second. The life vanishes. Harry pulls the knife out and watches more blood spill down his chest.

He wants to leave him there. He really does. He wants people to find him and have him displayed, wearing _RAPIST_ on his body. He deserves the humiliation.

Harry uses a rag to wipe off his red blade and packs it away in his bag. He stares at the body, wondering what he wants to do with it. He could get rid of it the way he usually does, but the idea of leaving him is so dangerously appealing.

Harry pulls his prepaid phone out from his pocket and rings Louis. “Hey, babe. I’m at the grocery store. Is there anything we need?” he asks. “Milk? Okay.”

◊

Harry sets down the three grocery bags on the island before going over to Louis and kissing him. “You’re in a good mood. I like it,” Louis giggles. Harry only nods, trying to get their lips together again. He kneels until he can bring his arms around Louis’s legs and hoist him up onto the kitchen counter. Louis wraps his legs around Harry’s hips and pulls him close until they’re pressing against each other.

Harry fumbles with undoing the button on Louis jeans. He pulls his jeans and boxers down to his knees; his cock springs out and rests against his lower stomach. Harry gets on his knees and presses kisses to Louis’s thighs before wrapping his lips around the head of his cock and then slowly sliding it into his mouth. He sticks his hand in his own trousers. Harry comes in his briefs and swallows all of Louis’s.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before standing up and pulling Louis’s jeans back on him. Harry wraps his arms around Louis, burying his face into his shoulder and sighing. “You all right, love?” Louis asks softly. Harry nods.

“Come shower with me,” Harry says before pulling him off the counter and taking him upstairs. In the bathroom, they strip down to nothing.

They lie down on their bed, towels hung low on their hips and their skin still moist. Harry aimlessly twirls his finger on Louis’s chest and carefully asks, “Would you still love me if I was a bad person?”

“Did I ever say you weren’t a bad person?” Louis chuckles before clearing his throat and nodding. “I… I probably would. But that depends what you mean. I’d still love you if you if you accidentally ran over a dog or robbed a bank. I think everything else would take some consideration.”

“What if… I killed a person?” Harry says in a tone that makes sure it doesn’t sound like a confession.

“…If I knew what reason, and it was a good reason… yeah.”

“If I killed a… rapist?”

“I’d probably love you more. You’d be like… a superhero.” Harry smirks at himself, lucky that Louis can’t quite see his face right now. Very quietly, Louis adds, “You’re already my superhero.” Louis pulls off his towel and gets under the duvet. Harry does the same.

◊

Bullshit is what it is. Harry almost feels like screaming at the teacher for being so stupid and pairing him up with Stan. Harry hates Stan, and he’s sure the feeling is reciprocated.

Louis and Stan were best friends for ages before Harry appeared. And Harry is sure that at one point in time, they were more than friends, but Louis still won’t admit it.

When the green-eyed boy entered Louis’s life and stole his heart, Stan wasn’t supportive of the relationship. He didn’t like Harry, and Harry didn’t like him. Stan wanted to keep Louis away from him, and Harry really didn’t care too much about that, but Louis made sure to be with both of them fairly. Eventually, Stan didn’t put much effort in trying to see Louis anymore, and the few times they did, they would fight, giving more reasons not to meet up. Now, they hardly talk at all. Harry was a corrosive to their friendship. He couldn’t say he felt bad about ruining it. Stan was a loser and unfortunate looking. Louis shouldn’t have to be seen with such trash.

Tomorrow, he’ll have to start brainstorming with Stan, and he wonders how that’ll happen because even the sight of Stan puts him off. He’ll need to have Louis there or he might kill Stan just a little. Without mentioning the possibility of Stan’s murder, he asks Louis if he could stay with him while _he’s_ over tomorrow. Louis agrees to stay.

Harry gives him a kiss and wraps him up in his arms. “I love you,” Louis whispers into his shoulder.

“Yeah… me too,” that is all Harry can manage right now. And that’s enough for Louis to stop breathing, process and realize, and then start breathing again.

Harry could almost pity him. Being loved by Harry isn’t something anyone should ever wish to be. It isn’t possible. It’s trying to climb up from a bottomless pit. It’s isn’t possible.

It isn’t worth it.

◊

Harry cleans the house and he showers, though he figures he’ll need another shower after spending a few hours with Stan. Louis is trying to convince him that he’s trying to impress Stan, but really, Harry only wants their guest to feel like shit compared to him and all the things he owns.

The doorbell rings while Louis and Harry are sipping on a glass of red. “Will you go get that?” Harry asks, softer than he usually would so Louis can’t deny. The blue-eyed boy puts a hand on Harry’s arm and squeezes it reassuringly before exiting the kitchen. He hears Louis and Stan voices and footsteps get louder before they enter the kitchen.

Stan’s dark hair always looks greasy. Harry wonders if he ever washes it. He licks the red wine off his top lip and forces a smile at him.

Harry wants it to be over just as soon as it starts. He can’t stand the way he looks, the way he talks, the way he _breathes_. He wants Stan out of his house. He’s trying to push Harry over the edge by eyeing Louis in a way that would make any caring person jealous. But Harry doesn’t care. He just finds Stan’s plan to get him angry incredibly weak, which annoys him. So, in a way… it works. But Harry won’t let him have the satisfaction. He hides his emotion.

“So, are we deciding on this?” Harry asks dryly. Stan nods. “Okay, well… we’ll start it tomorrow. Or whenever you come back.” _Hopefully never_.

When he leaves, Harry shuts the door behind him and groans. He almost prays that Stan’s drive back home ends the same way his family’s did. He figures he could somehow have that arranged.

He steps into the kitchen, where Louis is pouring another glass of wine. But instead of bringing it to his lips, he holds it out for Harry.

_Yeah… me too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! Thank you for all the nice comments. It really warmed my heart and made me shed a tear (or six). The pressure is on to make all of you happy. x Thank you for reading. xx I'm going back to school tomorrow so I think updates are going to happen later in the day now.


	5. Chapter 5

He’s slowly becoming the darkness that had grown beside him for six years. He’s merging with it.

His hands and church clothing are stained with blood.

This is his first kill, but he knows his mum won’t come out of the house and congratulate him on it. Yet… he smiles. For once, he doesn’t feel so small. He wants everyone to see this, see that he has no remorse, see the awful thing that is happening inside him.

The only person who does, though, is his mother. She steps out into the backyard to call him inside for lunch but stops in her tracks and brings a hand to her mouth, to keep out the smell or stop herself from screaming; Harry doesn’t know.

A 12-year-old holding a bloody trowel while kneeling beside a dead cat that now resembles cherry pie filling more than an actual cat. He drops the trowel and doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to pretend he didn’t do this or that had some excuse to besides that he simply wanted to.

His mother drops her hand and swallows the lump in her throat. She’s seen the hole in Harry. “H-Harry, throw out your clothing and wash yourself. Please,” she says. Harry stands up and walks inside. He sees his mother flinch as he passes her.

She’s seen the hole in Harry but pretends it’s not there. She gets rid of the corpse in her backyard and pretends it was never there. She pretends that the cat ran away. She pretends that she doesn’t know her son is sick. She pretends and pretends and pretends.

◊

Harry stands up from his seat as the dim room lights up again. He’s about to go outside and wait in the car, but Louis sends him a text to meet him in the dressing room. He doesn’t refuse.

He goes down the same hall he did just an hour before and finds the dressing room. He agilely walks through the girls that keep running back and forth before making it to Louis, who sits in front of the vanity. He’s admiring the large bouquet of flowers Harry’s gotten him. Harry comes up behind him and kisses his temple before spinning his chair around so they face each other. Louis kisses him properly on the lips now. In between kisses, he asks, “Did — you — like it?”

Harry pulls away and nods. “You were brilliant. I find the other guys look ridiculous in tights, but you… you don’t,” Harry says. “Do you like your flowers? Nearly had to beat some bloke up to get them.”

Louis giggles. “I love them. Puts everyone else’s to shame,” he kisses Harry again. This time Harry notices someone glaring at them in the mirror. He simply smirks and deepens the kiss. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that their disgusted spectator is Evie, Louis’s former admirer and now mortal enemy.

“Let’s get you home now,” Harry says. As they’re exiting the room, Harry hears Evie mutter something under her breath, most likely a bible verse that Harry couldn’t care less about. But he stops and calmly tells her, “Keep your religion out of our pants, and stop acting like the only thing you do on your knees is pray.”

Louis can’t stop having little fits of giggles the whole way out of the building. “I’m going to suck you off so good tonight,” Louis says casually while they’re driving back home, “just for saying that to Evie.” And while Harry is washing the dishes, Louis turns him around and goes down on him.

◊

“You’re fucking psychotic,” Gemma spits at him with tears in her eyes. “Get out!”

He guesses burning her dolls’ heads won’t win him the Greatest Brother Award. He’s thirteen. He’s thirteen and knows better than to ruin the dolls his sister has been collecting for almost all the fifteen years she’s lived.

He’s been standing in the doorway for a good minute while Gemma tries to salvage her dolls from the melted plastic mess in her metal trash bin. She sees Harry still hasn’t left and turns red almost instantly. Harry’s almost amazed at human emotion. She stands up and stomps over to him, wiping the drying tears on her cheeks. Lowering her head to see him eye-to-eye, she squints and very slowly whispers, “You’re fucking sick. Mum tries to hide just how fucked up you are, but I know.” Harry smiles. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What is wrong with me?” Harry repeats. He shrugs. “That’d take too long to get into. But what’s wrong with you is that the ugliest dolls in the world have sentimental value to you. I’m trying to help.”

She shoves him into the hallway, and before slamming the door shut, she yells, “Do everyone a favor and just kill yourself!”

◊

“Do me a favor and pass me the lotion, babe,” Louis says softly. Harry reaches over to the night stand and grabs the bottle. As Harry hands it to him, he shuffles over and sits on the back of Harry’s thighs. He squirts lotion onto his hand before rubbing it into Harry’s back with both of his hands.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks softly. He won’t tell him to stop. He’s enjoying himself.

“Just massaging your back. Duh.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause I love you—“ _No one loves you_ “—and want to take care of you in any way I can.” _No one cares about you_. Harry shuts his eyes, hoping it would somehow stop the voices in his head. It fails.

Louis leans forward to kiss the side of his neck and his shoulder. Harry focuses on that feeling. It’s so soft. Harry can’t remember anyone ever being soft with him before Louis.

“Stan’s coming over tomorrow,” Harry groans, suddenly losing his cloud of peace and becoming annoyed.

“Yeah? What have you guys decided on doing your project about?”

“Chinese Water Torture,” Harry answers. Louis nods and hums in interest. The lotion dries, and Louis finishes up. He plops down beside Harry and stares at him, signaling him to elaborate. “To keep it extremely simple, it’s basically binding someone up and having water drip on their foreheads for a very long time. S’posed to drive them mad… Are you going to be here while _he_ is?”

“Do you want me to be?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll be here. But I might go out to get groceries or summat.” Harry almost begs him not to leave him with Stan. But that would be so pathetic. He would drop dead before doing that.

He rolls onto his back, colliding with Louis, and sighs. Louis searches for Harry’s hand, and when he finds it, he intertwines their fingers. Harry thinks about the past, when he used to stiffen and get sick at Louis’s sentimental gestures. He realizes that the “past” he is thinking about isn’t too far away.

He’s developing feelings he though he’d lost years ago.

It’s absolutely terrifying.

 ◊

“Here’s your tea,” Louis says as he sets down both Harry and Stan’s mugs. Stan looks at him and thanks him. Harry completely ignores him. This hurts Louis a little too much.

Harry taps his pencil on his lap as he stares at the mess of papers on the table. He sighs and rubs his eyes. “I… think I’m going to do more research,” Harry says as he stands from the sofa and walks over to his desk.

“ _More_ research?” Stan asks.

“I didn’t stutter,” Harry mutters as he sits down. He begins to type away as Louis walks back into the living room with his own cup of tea. He sits next to Stan on the couch. They chat, and Harry types a bit more aggressively to drown out their voices. But then Louis laughs loudly, and his heart feels bigger. He’s panicking internally. On the outside, he’s staring at his computer screen and not moving. He swallows the lump in his throat and turns his chair to the pair on the sofa. “Lou, didn’t you need to go to the grocery store or something?”

“Oh, yeah. I could go later,” Louis replies.

“You should go now — before you forget.” This hurts Louis too. Maybe he’s taking everything a bit personally.

“Yeah. Okay,” Louis walks into and then back out of the kitchen with Harry’s car keys. “Be back later,” he mumbles sadly as he walks out of the house. It’s silent after the door shuts.

Stan speaks up, “You really don’t deserve him, you twat.” Harry walks across the living room to his bookcase and drags a finger over the spines of the books.

“That’s funny,” Harry says. He pulls out _Torture and Truth_ and skims through a few pages. “Could you… could you provide some examples to prove your statement?” He smirks at Stan.

“Now. Just now. What the hell was that?” Stan asks.

“What was what?” He’s just playing stupid to get a reaction out of him.

“You just fucking ignored him when he brought you tea and you kicked him out to go the grocery store,” Stan answers. “You shouldn’t treat him like that.”

“Yeah? Do you have one more piece of evidence? You need at least three,” Harry replies. Stan doesn’t say anything. “Okay. I have my own.” He shuts the book and places it on the bookcase. “I feed him, I buy him clothes, and I drive him wherever he needs to go. I try to make him feel good whenever I can. I’ve beaten so many blokes trying to protect him, and I don’t care if I have to fight more than a thousand people as long as he’s safe. If you don’t think I treat him well, you can go tell him that and try to get him to love you because you can treat him _better_ apparently." Harry rolls his eyes and grabs his book again.

“Do you love him?” Stan asks.“I used to.”

“That’s greaaat,” Harry says sarcastically as he continues looking through the pages.

“I was so sure we were going to be together until you came along. And you ruined all of it.” _You ruin everything._

“Yeah, I tend to do that.”

“You took up all his time and I was lucky to see him once a week. He was so stupidly in love with you. You. And you hardly even care about him. You just care _for_ him because you have to. You’re a machine. You don’t have actual feelings,” Stan continues. _Machine. No feelings._ Harry can only wish. Stan stands up and knocks the book out of Harry’s hand.

“That was a really expensive book,” Harry mumbles. He needs wine if he has to continue listening to Stan. He begins to walk and Stan follows. He grabs a glass and his favorite wine and pours. Stan talks for several minutes. Harry wonders if there’s an OFF button.

“Did your family even love you?” Stan asks. _She just pretends to love you. You fucking terrify her._ “Did you have daddy problems?”

“Yeah,” Harry says as he brings his wine glass to his lips. “My dad was an alcoholic and my stepdad was an idiot.”

“Wonder if he was an alcoholic because of you.” _He must’ve known how big of a mistake you would be._ Harry only shrugs.

“I wonder if your family purposely crashed.”

He’s not thinking. He’s not thinking.

He grabs the knife from the block.

He buries it deep in Stan’s stomach.

He’s not thinking.

“I wonder if I purposely put that knife there,” Harry mumbles. He sips his wine as Stan gasps and collapses on the floor. He steps closer to the small pool of blood surrounding him and steps on the knife handle, making it go a little bit deeper and hurt him a little more. He’s found the OFF button.

There’s no life in Stan by the time Harry finishes his wine. He puts down his glass and his blood begins to feel cold. He stares at the body on his kitchen floor and doesn’t know what to do for the first time in his life. He carefully takes Stan’s limp hands and drags him, streaking the tile with red, to the guest room and puts him in the small closet.

He exits the guest room and steps back into the kitchen to grab a wet dishtowel. He knows this won’t get rid of all the truth but it’ll work for Louis’s average mind.  
He’s on his hands and knees scrubbing at the blood stain but there’s so much that he ends up just smearing it. He runs to the sink, rinses and wrings the towel before going back to the dirty floor.

He’s halfway done when the door opens. He listens to the small gasp and the bags being dropped the floor. The eggs crack and soak through the brown paper bag. He puts down the rag and slowly stands, not meeting Louis’s eyes yet.

“Wh-where’s St-Stan?” Louis stammers. Harry sees his hands trembling. Instead of answering, he looks at his bloody shirt and hands.

_Some of Stan is all over the kitchen floor. Most of him is in the guest room closet._

Harry finally locks eyes with Louis and sees that they’re rimmed with red. Along with tears, they’re filled fear and confusion. He steps forward, and Louis steps back. “I’m not going to hurt you, Louis,” Harry says gently as he raises his hands in surrender. It doesn’t help that they’re covered in Stan’s diluted blood. “You know me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I’m… I’m not sure if I know you,” Louis whispers. Then he sprints. And Harry runs after him because it’s instinct, it’s survival.

“Don’t run from me, Louis!” Harry yells.

Louis runs throughout the house, tears blurring his vision. He can’t swallow that Harry is a… murderer. The man he loves isn’t what he thought. He’s a murderer. He wonders if Harry’s ever considered hurting him. _What if… I killed a person?_ It makes sense. It all makes sense.

He’s halfway up the stairs before Harry yanks on his ankle and he falls, hitting his head on a step and slipping into a darkness. He wonders if he’ll wake up or if Harry’s already taking a knife to his neck. He wishes for the latter.

He’s been killed already.

◊

“—wasn’t how it was supposed to turn out,” Louis flutters his eyes open and finds Harry, face in his hands, sitting in front of him, except he isn’t tied to his chair like Louis is.

His head still hurts. His heart hurts more. He looks around and doesn’t know where he is. They’re in a house, in the bedroom more specifically. A house that isn’t in the best condition but still very livable. “Where are we?” Louis asks timidly.

“My deceased dad’s cabin,” Harry answers gently. “He died here, you know?”

He rests his chin on his clasped hands and stares at the floor. Louis watches Harry for a minute before he asks the question that’s on his mind. “What are you going to do to me?” Harry just shakes his head and shuts his eyes. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know what to do with you. I don’t want to hurt you, Louis. That wasn’t a part of the plan,” Harry answers.

“And what was the plan? Just kill everyone else around you? Until what?” Louis spits a little angrily, which he would think is extremely reckless since he is the one tied to a chair but his hurt is clouding his judgement. “You couldn’t expect to do _this_ and not get caught eventually.”

“Yes. I’m not stupid, Louis. I knew my time would come and my luck would run out. But you… you weren’t supposed to be the one to figure it out,” Harry replies.

Louis stares at him and still can’t believe it. Tears begin to flood his eyes. He looks down and lets them drop on his lap. “Are you going to leave me here?” Louis asks around his tiny gasps of breath.

“No. I’ve nailed shut every window and door in this house. So I’m stuck here too,” Harry answers. “I’ve brought food and clothing. And surprisingly the shower works pretty okay.”

“So we’re just going to live here until people notice you and I… and Stan have gone missing?” Holy fuck, one of his friends is dead. And the killer is sitting in front of him. Killer. Killer. Lover. Killer.

“Basically,” Harry says before standing up and walking out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind him and leaving Louis alone. How could Louis be so unlucky? He breaks down sobbing. And Harry can hear all of it from the living room. He wishes it didn’t have to be this way.

There is a better way. A better way for Louis.

◊

Louis’s neck is aching since he has no comfortable place to rest his head. Harry walks in and notices this. “Do you want me to move you to the bed?” Harry asks.

“Am I going to be tied up?” Louis replies. Harry slowly nods. He knows why Louis would possibly decline. Louis sighs and nods back.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Harry mumbles. He unties Louis enough for him to stand from the chair but still be stuck like a dog on a leash. He wants to ask Louis if there’s a certain way he shouldn’t be tied. But he can’t do that. That isn’t him. He roughly shoves Louis on the bed and begins to tie one of the ropes around his wrists to one of the bed’s legs.

Louis feels panicked though he knows Harry wouldn’t hurt him like _that_. It’s déjà vu, and his body panics. Tears begin to pour out of his eyes again.

Harry stands back and looks at the man who loved him tied to a bed and crying because of him. He, for once, feels truly disgusted by himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing this now... I feel like everything I write ends too fast (There's only a chapter or two left). Ah, what a disaster. Sorry. Thanks for reading. x


	6. Chapter 6

Harry puts another spoonful of mixed fruits in Louis’s mouth. For every single spoon he feeds him, he says _I’m sorry_ in his head.

Harry tosses the can on the floor when it’s empty. “D-do you want to shower?” Harry asks. Louis nods. “Okay.”

He unties Louis and walks him to the restroom. He undresses him, trying to keep himself from touching his bare skin as much as possible. He starts the shower and helps Louis into the tub. Louis cries more.

Louis’s broken, and Harry did it. Harry broke someone who was close to gluing himself back together. He shattered the one person who loved him. He bites his lip until he tastes blood.

Once Louis’s thoroughly wet, he shuts the water off and helps him into a towel. He doesn’t bother tying Louis in the chair. He just sits him down on the edge of the bed. Harry knows he’s too scared to try anything. And that doesn’t boost his sick ego.

Harry’s shuffling through the bag of clothing and finding nothing because he’s so upset and frustrated with himself. He’s going to fucking kill himself. He stops looking through the bag. “I can’t fucking do this,” Harry says, his voice cracking because he’s about to cry. He bites his lip again as a single tear falls down his cheek.

He exits the bedroom, goes to a drawer in the living room, and grabs something before returning to the room. Louis’s eyes widen with terror as he discovers the gun in Harry’s hand. He shakes his head. “No, no, no. Harry, please, don’t kill me,” he pleads, hot tears already rushing out. “Please.”

Harry gets on his knees in front of Louis and places the gun in his smaller hands. He aims the gun in Louis’s hands at his own forehead. He sobs as he stares at the floor. “Pull the tr-trigger, Lou,” Harry croaks out.

Louis shakes his head. “No. No! I’m not killing you, Harry! I’m not going to do that,” Louis cries out. “I-I can’t do that.”

“Do it!” Harry shouts, his hands trembling around Louis’s. He guides Louis’s finger to the trigger.

“I’m not fucking doing it!” Louis throws the gun to a corner in the room. Harry’s head falls in Louis’s lap. He cries until he’s lightheaded. “I still love you too much to do that, you fucking dick,” Louis weeps. Harry looks up at him. Both of their red eyes lock. Harry stands up and kisses him. For a moment, it doesn’t feel like the end of all things.

Harry wants to be one with Louis one last time. He pulls down his trousers and briefs and pulls off his shirt.

Louis’s so unhealthily in love with Harry that he doesn’t stop him. He doesn’t check to see if what he’s about to do clashes with his morals, like _don’t have sex with murderers_. But technically, he’s already broken that rule several times.

Harry pulls off Louis’s towel and tugs on his hardening cock. He spits in his palm and spreads his saliva over Louis’s dick. Louis didn’t expect this to happen. Harry hovers above Louis’s hard-on before slowly sinking onto it. The stretch is almost excruciating. But he deserves it. He wants it to hurt. He needs it to hurt.

“Harry,” Louis squeaks out. Harry kisses his cheeks, right on the dry tears. He lifts himself up before coming back down again. He does it again and again, picking up speed after each one.

Harry’s only bottomed one other time in his life, and that was when he was raped. He’s never wanted anything or anyone inside him since then. But he wants Louis. He wants Louis inside him because it’s the only thing he can give him that’s… special.

Louis’s moans, the bed creaking, and the sound of skin slapping against skin is the only thing filling Harry’s ears. He forgets who he is and what current situation they’re in. He just focuses on what he’s feeling physically.

Louis cries out and comes deep inside him. Harry rides him through his orgasm as he chases his own. Harry kisses Louis as he paints his chest with streaks of white.

He cries into Louis’s neck while he catches his breath.

Harry has completely deteriorated.

◊

Harry dries his face off and wraps the towel around his neck. He grabs his and Louis’s worn clothing off the sink and walks out. Louis is tied to the chair again. He sets their clothing down on the floor and sits in front of him. He wants to talk to Louis but he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if he should say anything at all.

“Did… Did I ever matter to you?” Louis asks.

“You didn’t at first,” Harry answers honestly. “For a majority of our relationship, I didn’t care about you. I pretended to. Then I… then I told you that I was raped. And that— that changed something.”

Louis nods. It hurts. “Why did you choose me?”

“Because you were attractive and I knew you were fragile from the moment I met you. I wasn’t threatened by you at all,” Harry adds. “I knew I could have you if I wanted to.”

Louis looks down at his pile of clothes. “Harry, I don’t want to be here anymore,” he looks back up at him, eyes shining with tears.

“I know, I know,” Harry sympathizes. “…The gun… it’s still there if you want to try… again. You can leave after.”

Louis shakes his head. “I’m not… I’m not killing you!” He screams.

Harry has the strength to kill other people but not himself. He needs Louis to help him.

He needs Louis to end him.

◊

Harry picks up Louis’s pile of clothing off the floor and begins to fold it. Louis is sleeping on the bed. Before dozing off last night, he asked Harry if he could tie him down by his feet instead of his hands. His wrists were being rubbed raw. He promised not to attempt untying himself.

He holds Louis’s trousers by the legs as he folds it once, and something falls out of the pocket. He groans as he continues folding it. He puts it down on the foot of the bed before looking around the floor. He hopes he’s looking for something important rather than just a coin.

He gets on his hands and knees and blindly runs his hand all over the floor under the bed. He feels something. He grabs it and stands up before looking at it. He nearly drops it as soon as he registers what it is.

He stomps closer to Louis before getting on the bed and straddling his waist. He smacks Louis awake. Louis is shocked and afraid. “What the fuck! What the fuck is this?” Harry screams with tears pooling in his eyes. He throws the ring at Louis. “We were _never_ going to have a future like that, Louis!”

Louis doesn’t say anything. He’s shocked and hurt and he doesn’t see how anything he could say would make things better. Things aren’t going to get better. He’s lost everything.

“I was never going to be your husband! Your precious Mr. Tomlinson! I was never going to adopt children with you! We weren’t supposed to fall in love!” Harry continues. He just wants to hurt Louis now, more than he already has. He wants to hurt Louis until he hates him and can kill him. “I shouldn’t have dated you for so long. But I fucking began loving you. I actually felt something for you!” He cries into his hands. He’s so pathetic. Everything he was was all a façade. He was always weak and worthless. He was just like everyone else.

He wipes his tears and gets off of Louis. He needs it all to be over. He walks to the corner of the room and picks up the gun that Louis tossed. Louis is already shaking his head. He kneels. “I need you… to help me, Louis. I can’t do this on my own,” Harry whispers. “I can’t live with the urges to hurt people anymore. I need… I need to do one good thing and that is killing myself. But I need your help. Please, Louis.”

“I can’t kill you, Harry,” Louis replies, trying to keep his voice steady. “And if you die, I don’t want to live either.”

Harry screams as he throws the gun and stomps out of the room. He throws himself onto the dusty couch and hits his head against the arm rest. He repeats it over and over until he’s sure he’s dented his skull.

◊

He’s re-carving lines into the scars on the curve of his thumb. He bites his lip as the stinging pain shoots through his entire hand. He squeezes his fist so hard, his wrist begins to ache. He sobs as he watches the blood drip on the wooden floor. He knows what he has to do.

He quietly steps into the bedroom where Louis is sat on the bed with his knees up to his chest. His skin has lost his lively tan. His eyes look tired and hollow. His cheekbones are sharper than ever but not in a beautiful way. This isn’t beauty, this is suffering.

Harry wipes his eyes as he gets onto the bed and moves closer to Louis. Both of their dead eyes lock. Harry begins to weep like his wounded hand. Louis reaches out and strokes his face. He trembles under his loving touch. He doesn’t understand how Louis can have love for him after all he’s done.

He goes to caress Louis’s face and smears his cheek with red. Louis doesn’t depart from his hand. He stays there and gives him a small smile. Harry could throw up.

“D-do you still love me?” Harry stammers. Louis nods as he looks down at his feet. “You shouldn’t. Y-you need someone b-better. Someone who kn-knows how to love you without— without r-ruining you.”

Louis brings his knees down and crosses his legs. “Don’t think that’s all you’ve done. You’ve… you’ve helped me a lot too, Harry,” Louis replies. Harry removes his hand from Louis’s cheek.

He shakes his head as he squeezes his eyelids shut. “No, I haven’t helped you. L-look at where we are right now, Louis. The situation I put you in isn’t conventional. I d-don’t want you to live l-like this,” Harry adds. “I’m letting you go… after I do s-something.”

He bites his lip to keep himself from wailing as he checks that the rope around Louis’s ankle is still tied to the bed. Louis’s eyes widen in panic. “What are you going to do?” Louis asks. “If you try to kill yourself, I-I will tear my foot off just to stop you.”

Harry shakes his head as he mumbles, “No… No.” He wipes away the tears as soon as they slip from his eyes. He looks at Louis, almost pleadingly. “Can you… Can you kiss me before I do it?”

“ _What_ are you doing, Harry?” Louis tries again.

“Nothing. Just kiss me,” Harry takes Louis’s face in his hands again. He kisses him, or tries to at least. It’s difficult since he won’t stop crying. He breaks the kiss to look at Louis and finds that tears are streaming from his eyes too. He kisses him again, harder this time. They’re hitting teeth and biting lips, like they want to hurt each other but desire to be closer too. Against his lips, Harry says, “I love you.”

He stops kissing Louis and plays with his hair, managing a small smile even though the tears in his eyes do not display happiness. He gets off the bed and pulls out a duffel bag from underneath it. He opens one of the small pockets with trembling hands and he pulls out his phone. Louis doesn’t realize what Harry’s doing until he turns on the phone and dials in three numbers. Louis’s screams are caught in his throat until Harry shakily says, “H-hi, I’d like to report a murder.” Louis lets out skin crawling screams and Harry tries putting a hand over his mouth. “I need you to send police to two different places,” Harry continues and tells the operator his house address and then the address of the cabin. "There's someone in the closet. Dead. I... I did it."

“Harry, no!” Louis wails as he hangs up the phone. “Harry, we can g-go. We can run away. You don’t— You don’t have to go to jail.”

Harry shakes his head while wiping away Louis’s tears. “This is the only way without anymore killing,” Harry replies. He kisses Louis softly while he waits to be taken away. He gets back onto the bed and pulls Louis into his lap. Louis sobs harder as Harry holds him carefully. Louis has never felt so small. His shaking hands grip Harry’s shirt and tug on it. Harry presses his lips to Louis’s forehead and lets out a shaky sigh. “You’ll be okay, Louis. You’re going to go on with life without me and it’ll be okay, better even.” Louis shakes his head furiously. Harry gives him a pained expression. He wonders how he could’ve done this to Louis, to manipulate him into thinking that his love can somehow overlook the fact that he was a monster.

“I d-don’t want any—anyone but you,” Louis stammers.

“Louis, I’m not… good for you. I don’t care h-how you see it. I’ve killed people. I’ve killed someone close to you,” Harry reminds him. That’s when the echoes of police sirens hit them. And Harry begins to shake. “You’re going to be okay without me. You’re going to realize how wrong it is for you to love me and you’re going to find someone who’ll be able to give you what I never could. They won’t ruin your life.”

The screeching of sirens near closer by the second and Louis doesn’t want them to take Harry away. He kisses Harry hard and bites his bottom lip because _fuck_ him for being so amazing and amazingly fucked up. “I love you, Harry,” Louis whispers as he sniffles.

Harry looks at him softly. This is the most broken person he’s ever met. And they’re in love. “You’re the only person I’ve ever loved. So thank you for letting me… feel love,” Harry says. They hear the front door being beat down. Harry holds Louis tighter. They’re both frightened. He needs to finish. “Thank you for loving me. I-I don’t think anyone’s ever loved me until you came along. Thank you.”

Then everything happens so quickly. They hear footsteps coming closer to the bedroom door, then the door is swung open to police men holding guns. They see that Louis’s foot is bound to the bed. “Slowly let go of the boy or we’ll shoot,” one of them says calmly. Louis begins to cry harder as he feels Harry’s arms release him.

“Harry…” he softly squeaks. One of the men rushes at Harry, throws him onto the floor, and holds him down. Louis screams and swings at the officer. He’s held back by another one of them. He yells and yells and tries to free himself to get to Harry.

He hears the sound of handcuffs being fixed around wrists before the officer pulls Harry onto his feet. Louis sees blood dripping from the skin above Harry’s brow bone. “I’m sorry, Louis,” he’s being pulled out of the room. Before he’s out of the bedroom, he cries out, “I love you, Louis. I’m so sorry!”

Louis removes himself from the officer’s grip and runs but he can’t. He meets the floor and everything is a blur.

Louis feels like he can’t breathe anymore.

He feels like his lungs have collapsed and next is his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh. I'm so sure that ending was predictable. I have one last update and then it's over. Thank you for reading all of this. I have heart eyes whenever I read all of your wonderful comments. Thank you for making my little-boy heart soar. xx 
> 
> -Brendan


	7. Epilogue

“How long were you held captive by Harry Styles?”

Louis glares at the man before saying, “I don’t know. Will I be able to see him?” 

“You have to answer our questions first, Mr. Tomlinson.” 

Louis rolls his eyes and then sighs in defeat. “I think it might’ve been a week, maybe less,” Louis answers. “I lost track of time because I didn’t have anything to do but sleep.” 

“Now, has Mr. Styles ever acted violent towards you?” 

Louis thinks about the day he found out and tears up a little. “Only once after he killed… Stan. He never once tried hurting me prior to that. I don’t even think he was really trying to hurt me. He just didn’t want me to reveal him.” 

“Mr. Tomlinson, can you tell me if you know any of these people?” He slides over a manilla folder and opens it to reveal glossy pictures of many people. He shakes his head as he looks through all of them. “These are the people Harry killed and we’re just trying to look for a pattern. We’re trying to figure out what his motive might’ve been.”

Louis retracts his hands from the pictures like he’s been burned. All these people are dead because of the man he loves. With tears blurring his vision, he shuts the folder and slides it back. “Harry had mentioned voices in his head. He had an alcoholic father, he was verbally abused by his sister constantly, and he was— he was raped when he was six. These could all add up to his descent into… whatever this was. He just didn’t know how to cope with what he felt,” Louis struggles getting out. And he feels guilty for telling this stranger such a personal secret of Harry’s. 

“Okay,” the man writes it all down on a notepad. “That’s all we need right now. Thank you.” 

As he’s pushing in his chair, Louis asks, “Can I see him now?” He shakes his head. “But you said I could. You lied to me.” 

“I never said you could. Mr. Styles has requested specifically to keep you from visiting him. And usually we don’t follow orders from convicted murderers but it was decided to be good for your safety and well-being. It seems that you’re suffering from Stockholm Syndrome, Mr. Tomlinson...”

White noise fills his head as the interrogator continues speaking. Louis thought Harry being a murderer was the worst thing that could have ever happened. But never seeing him again is. What meaning does his life have left if Harry isn’t a part of it at all anymore? It has none. Harry has taken everything from him. 

The time bomb in his head goes off. He starts screaming and howling and he flips the table over. If he doesn’t kill himself, he’ll end up killing someone else. What a fucked up cycle. 

He lost Harry. He lost his sanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was probably a really meaningless chapter but I felt like including Harry's decision to be isolated from Louis and the Stockholm Syndrome situation. And also before I completely leave this fic alone, I want to mention that I don't condone abusive relationships nor am I trying to romanticize them. (That's also another reason why I made an epilogue for this and put it up. Harry's abuse will have a lasting, negative affect on Louis for the rest of his life.) But anyway. Thank you for reading. I didn't actually expect this to get even half the attention it did. You are all so lovely. Thank you. xx
> 
> -Brendan


End file.
